Honoria turned to their eldest sister. “Thatwas Lord Althorne? Why, he is not hunchbacked or hideous at all! I wonder why folk would consider him so? I feel foolish for calling him ugly when he is perfectly charming.”
“I’ve learned that what is whispered about one is rarely true and almost always hurtful. Some other poor governess must’ve spread those vile rumors in retaliation for a job badly done.”
It was true. Village tattle had been vicious—especially since governess after governess had fled Caswell Hall. The sisters had feared for Octavia’s safety, yet their anxieties had been sorely misplaced. She seemed happy here, living and working alongside the gregarious nobleman.
The eldest Staunton did not keep to the shadows here at Caswell. She was not as discreet or distant as the servants scurrying just out of sight. Octavia led them up the main stairs, explaining, “The Raineses are in attendance.”
Although the sisters frequently spied the wealthy, elegant Raines family attending Sunday services, no one in Longstone had actually spoken to the women. They were a class above the cobblers, laborers, and shopkeeper’s wives. It made perfect sense for the beautiful Miss Raines to attend this premier gathering.
Octavia’s tone did not foster optimism for a friendship between the Stauntons and their well-heeled neighbors.
“Are they awful?” Cassandra asked, fearing the worst.
“They treated me abominably yesterday. Miss Raines is determined to catch a husband, and doesn’t care who she hurts to get him.”
If Eugenie Raines wished to find a husband among the guests at Caswell Hall, she had nothing to fear from Cassandra Staunton—that path had been closed to her years ago.
CHAPTER TWO
Why had he allowed Simon, Lord Althorne, to drag him into a viper’s den? No, not even dragged, for Wade had traveled willingly to this gathering at Caswell Hall.
A bachelor duke and an unmarried viscount were prime targets, to say nothing of Tom Swygert, a wealthy industrialist from Sheffield who’d joined their little party. Three single gentlemen of means had drawn out the very worst predator known to man—a matchmaking mama.
Mrs. Raines had her claws in Simon, but Wade knew she’d just as easily take a ducal coronet for her pretty daughter’s head. The man behind the title did not matter, so long as his ancient lineage elevatedherfamily.
The woman was a vile snob, and, truthfully, Wade was frightened of her. One slip of the tongue, one misstep, one carefully laid trap and he—the Duke of Wadebridge—would find himself betrothed.
He was hiding from both mother and daughter. Wade claimed a bad head, which was a believable enough excuse after last night’s revelries, but he had slept off hisgueule de bois,washed, dressed, and then refused to leave his room.
He knew from his bedchamber window, open to the garden below, that Mrs. Raines and her daughter circled ‘round the marquee tent erected on the grounds. They lurked among the teacakes and sandwiches, ready to trip up some poor bachelor.
Hopefully, Simon would be occupied with his niece’s pretty governess—Octavia Staunton was the best looking piece of petticoat Caswell Hall had ever known. More than that, she was clever, kind, and seemed to take a genuine interest in her young charge. Wade’s dearest friend in all the world would be a fool not to marry her…if the lady would have him.
With Simon safely out of the way, a duke topped the list of potential snares, and Wade was not going down there without an ally. He daren’t face the Raineses without someone watching his back, for no man could take on such an adversary alone. He’d be slaughtered; trussed, bound, and delivered to the altar.
The very idea threatened to bring his breakfast up.
Wade pushed away from the window. He was accustomed to being alone, even at a garden party, surrounded by guests. Perhaps it was the consequence of his upbringing that kept him isolated—he’d been an only child, a dukeling in nappies, raised by a committee of impartial guardians.
Young Wadebridge had been set apart from his peers even at school…until he’d scrapped with a lanky blond lad and gotten his nose bloodied. He and Simon had dusted off their trousers, shook hands, and become inseparable. They’d been the very best of friends for nearly twenty years.
But now Simon had his plucky governess.
Wade heard the intrepid lady talking and laughing in the corridor. Miss Staunton passed by his door—surely, it was she, as all the other guests were lounging on the sunlit terrace. He recalled that her sisters were to join the party. Their group must’ve just arrived from Longstone.
He’d been warned that they were pretty, intelligent, sheltered ladies raised in genteel poverty. There had been some scandal about their parents’ marriage, which Mrs. Raines had been all too happy to divulge. Unfortunately, a wayward scholar eloping with his pupil’s sister made for a fascinating tale. It had been the talk of the drawing room yesterday.
Nothing would annoy the Raineses more than seeing the Duke of Wadebridge surrounded by a trio of charming country virgins. He could walk downstairs with these ladies and spend the afternoon nestled safely between their hoop skirts, away from the clutches of two vile snobs. He’d be as safe as a babe, for no ordinary village miss would set her sights on a dukedom.
Wade plucked his hat from a nearby rack and hastened to the door. He hauled it open at the precise moment the sisters paused in the corridor. They stood with their backs to him—oblivious of him—laughing and chatting unselfconsciously in that warm way women always did whenever there wasn’t a man around to ruin the fun.
Wide skirts crushed to their thighs as they huddled to admire a portrait hung upon the paneled wall. They smelled of soap, sunshine, and clean muslin, rather than cloying French scent or stale champagne.
Wade recognized the governess’ prim posture, but the other two ladies were unknown to him. Three dark heads pressed together as they discussed the merits of the painting. He stopped in his tracks to admire their nipped, corseted waists and swishing hems. What a pretty picturetheywould’ve made, had he been some master artist and not a worthless mortal.
“My goodness!” the middle girl said, almost breathless in admiration of the work. She did not try to school her excitement or hide her almost gauche enthusiasm, as many of the women in his society would’ve done.
It was only a painting, after all. Hanging in a hallway. Dimly lit and nearly forgotten among the everyday elegance of the space. He’d passed it one hundred times without a thought, yet one glance stoleherbreath away.
